It's easier for you to label me insane
by please-callmejohnwatson
Summary: John's 18 year old niece Ruby Watson arrives to stay at Baker Street, under strict instructions to behave herself from her alcoholic mother. Oddly, she finds she is able to confide in Sherlock, and as the secrets start pouring, so does the blood... NB: John is a bit OC here oops soz not soz xoxo
1. Chapter 1

Stubbing out the cigarette I held in my frozen fingers, I breathed the remnants of the smoke out and hugged myself tighter for warmth. I sat on the crumbling brick wall outside his house, waiting for him to arrive so I could slap fifty shades of shit out of him - maybe fifty five if I really got into it.

I had been waiting for at least three hours now. I knew he would do everything in his power to avoid seeing me, but everyone has to come home sooner or later. I didn't care how dark it got, I didn't care how cold I felt, I would sit here for as long as it took for him to arrive.

I wasn't even sure why I was here. I mean, getting your heart ripped into shreds and tossed into the gutter sure does hurt, but was that really the reason I wanted to see him? Was I angry? Or did I just want to see him again? Maybe it was that, maybe I was just lonely, maybe I didn't want anyone else to have him.

No, it couldn't be that. I refused to let it be that I was lonely and that I longed for him to be mine again, when that was true. No, it was that he angered me, he'd left me when I needed him most, that was it.

Anger.

I looked down and studied my scuffed boots as the minutes dragged by. They were scratched to shit, but I liked them that way. Everything I owned was destroyed in some way or another. I hated perfect things. Maybe that was why I hated him. I didn't want him in my head again, so I pulled out my lighter from my jacket and flipped it open.

Staring at the tiny flickering flame, I had an idea. I got up from the old wall, and surveyed the tiny front garden. It certainly wasn't a nice garden; it was one you expected to see on a council estate like this, filled with junk and pointless shit nobody wanted.

Pocketing my lighter yet again, I jumped the tiny wall and set about sorting through the piles of junk to see if there was anything of interest. After a few minutes of mindless searching, I found a half empty can of petrol. Smiling slightly, I bundled the rest of the junk back into a fairly large pile, and opened the can of petrol.

The strong odour made my eyes water but I relished the smell of it, the smell of destruction. I poured the entire contents over the pile and tossed the can on top for good measure. I brought out my disposable lighter again and flicked the grinder. I turned my head towards his house. A light was on downstairs; but I couldn't see anyone around. It didn't matter if there was anyone around anyway, I didn't care.

Shrugging, I made the flame higher and lit an old newspaper I'd found. Taking one last look towards the house, I threw the burning paper onto the pile, and watched, smiling, as the junk immediately burst into flames.


	2. Chapter 2

I'd stayed for a further two hours watching that heap of shit burn. I'd have continued waiting for him to return had I not got a phone call from my uncle. The endless ranting about curfews and the dangers of London bored me, and so I hung up and began to make my way home.

Not that it was really home to me. The pokey little flat on Baker Street simply made me curious, not to mention the man my uncle lived with. He was strange, yet not a scary kind of strange, not the kind of person you wished to keep away from. On the contrary, I wanted to know everything about this enigmatic man. Only I'd been told not to talk to him unless it was necessary.

I left the council estate and after around half an hour of meaningless wandering, I found myself back on the main streets of London. Baker Street was right ahead of me, and I set about kicking my shoes against the corners of the pavement as I made my way towards the flat.

I could see my uncle, John, watching me from the flat window upstairs and I rolled my eyes at him. Hopefully he'd get the hint. But as I put my key in the lock and pushed open the black door, there he was, stood at the top of the stairs. I could feel him staring at me as I shut the door and shrugged off my coat.

"So… You mind telling me where it is you've been all day?" his curt tone made me roll my eyes again. Now was not the time to question me.

"Out" I replied, sounding as bored as I possibly could. "Out? You've been gone since eight this morning, and all you can tell me is that you've been, 'out'?" I could tell he was getting more and more irate. It amused me to no end.

"Things to do, people to see, drugs to sell… The usual" I replied, pushing past him on the stairs. He scoffed, "I don't know why I bother talking to you half the time, you're ridiculously childish" He followed me into the flat, as I chucked my coat with reckless abandon onto the small coffee table. I sat on the green armchair facing the fire and looked at him. Waiting.

John stared at me with venom in his eyes, and I smirked happily. "It's about time you grew up young lady" he hissed. I said nothing and looked on with mild interest, as he snatched up my coat from the table and hung it upon a peg, before marching angrily off into his bedroom.

I giggled. I was good at making people angry. Soft footsteps came from the kitchen, and I looked up to see John's flatmate, Sherlock. He paused and stared at me for a moment.

"You made him angry" he noted.

"One of my hobbies" I retorted. I glanced at him as he sat in the chair opposite me, and noticed he had a small smile on his face.

"You're quite something to behold, aren't you Ruby?" he declared, staring into the fire. I frowned. "What d'you mean?" I examined my fingernails, chipping off the already cracked blue nail polish.

"There's no point trying to act strong. I can see you're really quite vulnerable, though you don't want anyone to realise that. Especially John. This façade you put on isn't fooling anyone. Not me anyway. And I can tell you don't want to go home back to your alcoholic mother, she hurts you"

I stared at him, shocked. How could he possibly know?


	3. Chapter 3

"It's alright, I do this for a living. I'm not a stalker" Sherlock murmured.

I wasn't sure I believed him. How could he possibly know my mother hurt me? Hadn't I done well to cover the bruises? Hid the scratches and cuts? Apparently not.

"How do you know about that? I haven't told anyone. Not even John" I spoke rapidly. I needed answers. Answers as to how this odd man suddenly knew I'd been abused.

"I observed" He said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, he stared at me intently.

I scowled at him, "What d'you mean you 'observed'? That doesn't make sense" I kicked off my boots and slid my feet under my legs out of habit. It was something I tended to do when I felt nervous.

"It means exactly that. I observed" He looked at me sympathetically, as though I were a child. "Don't look at me like that" I growled, "I'm not five"

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I stared into the fire, as Sherlock stared at me. It unnerved me. It felt as though he were staring right through me, like he could see my entire life. I hated the feeling.

Eventually, after what seemed like an age, John suddenly appeared. "Your mother's on the phone Ruby" He handed me his mobile and I stared at it.

"So?" I asked.

"So talk to her, she hasn't seen or spoken to you in three weeks for god's sake" He stood watching me.

"That's her problem. Not mine" I picked up the mobile and pressed the reject button, not caring that she had heard me.

John began to shout at me, but Sherlock cut in. "Leave her John, she won't talk if she doesn't want to"

I looked at him and nodded my thanks. Finally, someone who understood.

John looked at us both. "Fine. I'm off out to see Sarah. Don't wait up" He said airily. Sherlock said nothing. I continued to stare at the embers of the fire.

"Right! I'm going!" John shouted as he flounced out the door and stomped down the stairs.

Sherlock and I listened as the front door opened and then promptly slammed shut. We sat in silence again, both wrapped up in our own thoughts. Eventually I stood and made my way to my room. Sherlock stayed sat in his chair.

I closed the door gently and began to get undressed. I stood in what I called my pyjamas, which consisted of my underwear and a large baggy grey jumper, and turned on my iPod docking station.

I paced round my room as the sound of Ben Howard began to play. I came to a stop at my dresser and noticed a glass of red wine had been placed there. I smiled to myself and picked it up, taking a small sip and relishing the tang.

I moved towards my window and climbed awkwardly onto the side of it, still clutching the glass. I settled myself against the wall and watched London unfold below me. I loved the city. It was so easy to get lost.


	4. Chapter 4

I sat alone, sipping my wine and watching the tiny people below me. My head started to ache. I blamed it on stress. Looking at my glass, I realised it was empty. Throwing it away from me, I faintly heard the sound of smashing as it collided with my dresser.

I sighed. That would have to be cleared up; I'd get into even more shit if I left it. I went to clamber down from the window, but something on the street outside made me stop. A man was staring at directly at me. I froze.

A street lamp nearby illuminated his face slightly, and I could see the gleam of his eyes through the darkness. Something about him made me fearful, he reminded me of a reptile; bright, wide eyes that stared right at me. I shifted uncomfortably on the window sill, and raised my hand slightly on the pane of glass.

He twitched his head in the direction of which I had moved, and I withdrew my hand quickly. In the murky light, I saw him smile up at me and raise his hand also. I jumped quickly away from the window and immediately regretted it, my head felt woozy. This time I blamed it on the alcohol.

Head spinning, I rummaged through my drawers and found a pair of leggings. Pulling them on, I shut the curtains sharply and ran towards the door. I had the feeling that man was still stood on the street, and I preferred to be in someone's company. Trotting into the living room, I saw Sherlock was still sat in the large burgundy chair, his position unchanged.

I stood uncertainly in the door frame of the kitchen, fiddling with the sleeve of my jumper. I didn't want to disturb him; I'd been warned not to interrupt him under any circumstances, unless it was absolutely necessary. Like if I'd stabbed someone. Again.

"Don't you know it's rude to sneak up on people?" The sound of his voice made me jump.

"I wasn't sneaking" I snapped. I padded across the room and sat on the floor in front of the now dwindling fire.

"What were you doing then?" He quizzed, looking at me oddly.

I collected a small handful of coal dust from near the fire grate and began drawing a pattern in it. "There was a man. He was staring at me and there was something about his eyes, they… They didn't look human" I mumbled, remembering the way they had glinted in the light.

Sherlock frowned and cocked his head. "Not human?" He asked.

"They were like lizards, he was like a reptile" I shivered. I didn't want the image back in my head.

"Reptilian… Interesting" He stood suddenly and strode over to the window, peering out at the street below. "No sign of this reptilian man…" I couldn't be sure if he was talking to himself or me.

I responded anyway. "Well he was there. And he was super fucking creepy" I huffed and scattered the coal dust into the fire.

"I believe you" He replied, turning to look at me. "Really?" I asked.

"Why wouldn't I?" He smiled and winked at me.


	5. Chapter 5

The hours began to tick away as I sat with Sherlock. At first we were slightly uncomfortable with each other's presence, I was unsure of how to act. It wasn't that he scared me, more he intrigued me. I often wondered how he could detect such tiny details of a person's life and make it out to be so simple.

However soon enough we relaxed and the conversation began to flow. "So, how is it you seem to know all my little secrets Mr Holmes?" I asked as I migrated from the floor to curl up on the vacant armchair.

"I doubt you have the brain capacity to understand" He replied smiling.

I scowled. "Has anyone ever told you how exceptionally arrogant you are?"

"More times than I can remember" He replied.

I gave a small laugh. Even though he was exceedingly arrogant, I couldn't help but admire him. "Seriously though, how d'you know all these things?"

He took a deep breath in and released it slowly. "I can't explain it. It's almost like my mind is in a state of hyperactivity every waking second of the day. I notice things I perhaps shouldn't. But I still observe them" He blinked suddenly and looked confused, as though he'd said too much.

I peered at him in the gloomy light of the flat. "So you've got like, a five year old mind?"

He chuckled. "I suppose you could say that. Though I'm a lot more logical and knowledgeable than a five year old"

"Keep telling yourself that" I replied and smiled at him.

The sound of the front door slamming downstairs made us both jump. I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece; 1:38am. That was still early for me. Sherlock glanced at me, "John's drunk. Again"

I clammed up automatically. Even though I drank myself, other drunken people frightened me. And Sherlock knew why. I stood quickly, "I should go to bed, he'll be mad at me if he sees I'm still up"

I didn't wait for an answer and made to move towards the kitchen, but I felt a hand gently hold my arm back. "Ruby don't panic. He's not going to hurt you" Sherlock looked up at me. I knew he meant well but it made me more agitated.

I gave a small nod and tried to hold back the tears. "I know he won't but…" The words caught in my throat and I squeaked unintentionally. The door to the stairs opened and I yanked my arm from Sherlock's grasp as John stumbled into the room, nearly capsizing the coffee table.

I scurried away through the kitchen, not daring to glance back.


	6. Chapter 6

I sat in the middle of my bed; eyes wide like a startled rabbit. I always got like this when people were drunk, they scared me shitless. I blocked out the memories of my own mother becoming violent and aggressive and focused on my breathing.

Deep breath in. Hold it. Let it out.

I continued with this until my heart stopped pounding against my ribcage and my pulse seemed to slow a little. I looked down at myself. My hands clutched at my arms, fingernails dug into the flesh tightly. Wincing slightly, I relaxed my hands and brought one up and through my hair. I sighed. I really needed to sort my shit out; I couldn't keep doing this every time I was near someone drunk.

Glancing at the alarm clock on my bedside table, I realised I'd have to get up in about four hours. There was no chance of me getting any form of sleep now. I shuffled myself back towards the headboard, and pulled the duvet around me; cocooning myself tightly. I reached under one of my many pillows and pulled out my favourite book; Fragile Things.

Finally settling down, I flipped open the page and began to read.

* * *

I awoke just as my alarm began to screech loudly. 8am. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the sleep dust from my eyes. Failing miserably, I rubbed my eyes with my hands and pushed the duvet away from me. The sunlight filtered in through my curtains, I'd forgotten to close them properly earlier, and I huffed loudly.

"Fucking sunlight, burning my fucking retinas"

There was a sharp knock at the door as I sat up properly and glared at the sun outside.

"What?" I grunted as the door clicked open.

It was John, also wincing. Though I doubt it was all down to the sun.

"Breakfast is on the table when you want it. And when I say 'when you want it', I mean it's five minutes away from being thrown in the bin. The smell makes me sick" He muttered, a deep frown on his face.

"Not my fault you were off your head last night. Sarah's turn to get the drinks in was it?" I spat. I knew he was skint, and I enjoyed every opportunity I got to rip the shit out of him for it.

He didn't reply, merely looked at me sheepishly and backed away into the hallway. I could hear his footsteps shuffle away into the kitchen as I threw back the duvet with a flourish.

I made to get out of bed but suddenly remembered the glass I smashed the night before. Sliding to edge of the bed I noticed there were shards of glass covering the entirety of my floor.

"Ah fuck"


End file.
